


Just as Sweet

by Latter_alice



Series: Roses and Rendezvous [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, romeo and juliet - Freeform, why talk about shit when you could just do this instead amiright
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:19:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22060162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Latter_alice/pseuds/Latter_alice
Summary: 1662, Globe Theater.An angel and a demon see a performance of whats promising to be a Shakespearean classic.Crowley didn't particularly want to see another bloody tragedy he'd fortunately missed out on, but Aziraphale had too, and they were both in town, and he had an annoying habit of never saying no.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Roses and Rendezvous [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1631110
Comments: 8
Kudos: 25





	Just as Sweet

The Globe was mostly empty, aside from a few patrons chatting about the play, dotted across the theatre. 

Crowley leaned over the edge and crinkled his nose. The place reeked of sweat and mud. A scrawny kid swept an otherwise empty stage. If he happened to trip over the air, it wasn't Crowley's fault exactly.

Aziraphale cleared his throat beside him. "That was… Certainly something."

He snorted. "You're the one who was crying about missing it."

"I suppose I was."

He glances over. Aziraphale’s face was crestfallen. His crystal blue eyes drooped over the stage. Crowley had a distinct feeling he wasn't seeing it, though.

It was a bit on the nose, Crowley could admit. _Romeo and Juliet._ Forbidden lovers. The play had been… uncomfortable. And it was the last time Aziraphale would get to pick what they saw for the next century, or at least a decade.

The angel shifted in place, opened his mouth, closed it, and peeked over at him. Some unspoken plea buried. His chest twisted.

Most things were unspoken.

"I could make it," he motioned vaguely to the empty stage, " _disappear_ , if you'd like." He cleared his throat. "You are, after all, the one who _likes_ dreary."

"No," Aziraphale said. Too quickly, too fast. "It’s a- it's a _fine_ play."

"Oh I don't know, seems putting one in the dirt would make up for the bit with Hamlet, don't you think?"

"No, I... I think we should leave this one be, rather." His gaze drifted to the stage. "Those two have had enough problems as is." He ran his lips under his teeth. "Doomed from the start, I'd say."

He bit the inside of his cheek.

"I don't know about that, angel. They're just stupid children. Could've been much smarter about it." He pushed himself off the ledge and stood straight. "Though they did have some points."

"Like what?"

His eyes ran over Aziraphale’s face. He had the same hair for the last five thousand years and it was still as tantalizingly soft as Eden, the way they stuck up and curled around everything in the perfect way only something from Heaven could manage. _Ethereal_ , or whatever he called it.

_Age does not wither._ Couldn't if it tried.

"Well," he started, "What is in a name, that actually matters? Their names certainly don't. Fancy titles that mean nothing in the end."

He pulled his hand up, and with it, a rose manifested. It petals folded out perfectly, large and soft, plucked straight from his memories of Eden. He'd always been fond of the look of the place, despite himself.

Aziraphale’s eyes popped. 

He twirled the stem between his fingers. Its sweet scent floated in the air between them

"Could call it a rose, a flower, weed if you're tasteless, or even _demonic_ , in this instance. But it's the same thing."

He offered it over.

"Demonic," Aziraphale repeated softly. Carefully, he grasped the stem. He examined it, and drug it up to sniff. A small smile flashed beneath the stark red petals.

Crowley bit the inside of his mouth to stop himself from smiling too. Small victories.

But soon enough, the angel coughed, and the flower was gone. Where to, Crowley had no idea, but he had a suspicion it was _somewhere_ rather than nowhere.

"Call it what you like, certainly," Aziraphale said. "But the name did still matter in the end. They'd both be alive if they played their parts."

"But miserable."

Aziraphale honest to Satan pouted. "They're children."

"And we have all the time in the world."

" _C_ _rowley—_ "

It stung to hear his name like that, always did in the few instances of honestly cut short.

It was a tone he was intimately familiar with at this point. 

It wasn't like he didn't _know_ himself. Know what would happen if Hell found out, if Hastur, Beelzebub, _anyone_ caught wind about his little arrangement.

One day that might not be a problem. However infinitely unlikely. But until then… 

He took no time correcting himself. 

"Sorry, we don't..." acknowledge it. Talk about it. Act on it. Can't do anything about it.

Aziraphale’s eyes glistened, the grip on the rose's stem was almost enough to break it, but Aziraphale’s restraint was nothing to be scoffed at, despite the gluttony.

"We _can't_."

He let his eyes drift to the stage, empty now.

"I know." He sighed. "It really is silly. They could've just moved, ran away in the night. Kept their mouths shut and vanished."

Aziraphale laughed. "A nice thought."

"And I could make it disappear. Practically itching to."

"No, best not to. It does have some fine prose in it, at the least."

_And a way for you to torture yourself._

"Fine, but never drag me to it again."

Of course, he'd go again, if asked. But he _would_ make a point for the next handful of decades to be the one to pick.

To Aziraphale's credit, he did wait over three hundred years, and one failed apocalypse later, to drag him back to it. And to the play’s credit, the second viewing was decidedly better without the reminder of sides and potential death. 

  
Much, _much_ sweeter, that way.


End file.
